We're Not a Couple! (Usually) x 5
by Cumberbatch Critter
Summary: Five times that Sherlock and John slept together, but, no, they're really not a couple! Platonic cuddling - yes, I said it; it's my guilty pleasure - to suit both sides of the fandom.
1. Cold

**We're Not a Couple! (Usually) x 5**

1.

Hypothermia struck in the realms of an away case.

Or, the cold struck, anyway.

Needless to say, he and Sherlock weren't used to snow, living a relatively calm weather zone - rain not withstanding, of course - and they were wholly unprepared when their trip put them in a cabin in the middle of nowhere and surrounded by snow. Well, not true. John was prepared enough and Sherlock didn't even seem to possess other clothes besides t-shirts or cotton ones and his jacket, but the snow had knocked out their power and, by design, their heat.

"Let's go to bed."

The blunt statement in the otherwise silence of the cabin made John jump. "What?" he asked, glancing up from trying to squint at the newspaper in the gloom.

"I said, let's go to bed," Sherlock repeated, not looking away from the wall. He'd been sitting in the recliner the better part of an hour, fingers steepled and gaze distant and John had been just fine with it, to be honest. He wasn't happy about the situation to begin with, let alone having to listen to Sherlock talk or complain.

"I heard you," John said hesitantly. "Or, at least, I thought I did. But it sounds like you're implying that we sleep together and we worked that out a long time ago that we weren't."

Sherlock glanced towards him. "The circumstances have changed."

John was not impressed. "The circumstances have changed. So now you've gone from saying 'I'm not going to sleep, John; I have a case!' to 'Let's go to bed'? I don't think so," John said, putting the paper down. "We agreed I got the bed, you took the sofa. Remember this conversation? One bedroom cottage? This is why I wanted some place with _two_ rooms."

Sherlock stared at him blankly. "I must have filtered," he said absently. He stood up. "It's different, John. It's cold, the heating's out, and sleeping together will preserve body heat. Besides, you're a soldier, and a doctor. You've seen more men naked than I have."

John raised his eyebrows, pulling his blanket closer. "Seen many men naked, then?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Cadavers, John," he said, tucking his own blanket tighter around his body. "Come on. It's freezing."

John sighed. "I'm going to have a shower first. Go to bed if you'd like."

"I'll wait," Sherlock replied, shuffling into the kitchen.

"Of course you will," John muttered.

It was logical, of course, John knew that. Being in the army squashed most, if not all, personal boundaries he had and he trusted Sherlock... more or less. The cottage was freezing, John was freezing, Sherlock was freezing, but they were both, of course, exuding their own body heat. So, sharing a bed and blankets would maintain their temperatures almost as effectively as having the heat on.

The only reason John entertained the idea was because they were in the middle of nowhere and no one could start any rumours.

And it was cold. Definitely cold.

He took a quick shower and, putting on two jumpers, hurried through the cottage with the intent of crawling, shower-warm, into bed.

Sherlock was already in bed, eyes closed.

John sighed. "Of course you are."

"Well, hurry up before your heat wears off," Sherlock retorted without once opening his eyes.

John just sighed and crawled into the free side of the bed. "Stay on your own side and six inches between us," he said sternly.

Sherlock hummed in reply.

When John woke up to the lights clicking on and the rattle of the heat blasting again, Sherlock was pressed up against his back, spoon-style, fast asleep and snoring.

John just sighed and shuffled closer to the edge of the bed, taking the blankets with him.

* * *

**This is going to be a 5 type story. Like 5 + 1, but without the + 1. I still love the boys cuddling. Still don't ship Johnlock. I just like the cuddles that ensue. ****And, really, why should John be particularly like a blushing schoolgirl when it comes to something like this? Like Sherlock mentioned, he's a doctor and a soldier. And this is only thermo-cuddling. It's logical. ;)**

**I do not own _Sherlock_. I look forward to your reviews. Thanks!**


	2. Nightmare

2.

John woke up with a start, breathing heavily and heart pounding almost painfully in his chest. His gaze shot around the room before he realised that he was in the upstairs bedroom of Baker Street, and not a med tent in the middle of Afghanistan.

Strange. He hadn't had a dream like that in a long, long time.

His doorknob rattled and the door opened slightly, Sherlock poking his head in.

"John?"

John sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I'm fine... Sorry."

Sherlock pushed the door the rest of the way open. "Nightmares?"

John nodded slightly, not looking up.

"You haven't had a nightmare of this caliber in two-hundred seventy-nine days," Sherlock said, his deep tone stating the obvious but with a hint of curiosity.

John glanced up. "You've..." he trailed off.

But Sherlock kept track of his nightmares? That seemed... strangely uncharacteristic. And a little bit... well, embarrassing but touching at the same time. Albeit if Sherlock didn't do it for the sentimental reasons.

"Any reason?" Sherlock asked.

"Huh?"

"Is there anything that may have triggered the dream?" Sherlock clarified.

John shook his head. "I don't know. Probably just... no, I don't know." He sighed, flopping back against his pillows. He drew his arm over his eyes and didn't look back up.

At least, not until the blankets were pulled back and the opposite side of his bed dented down slightly.

"Sherlock-"

Sherlock settled himself under the blankets, plumping the pillow up. "Hm?"

"... What are you doing?"

"You're upset. Your therapist would say that you need to talk about it, but I'm not your therapist and I don't _really_ want to hear you talk. So, physical contact is the next step for calming frayed nerves and, with my presence, you should avoid any more nightmares tonight."

John shifted uncomfortably, feeling vaguely like a stranger in his own skin. His sheets felt all too constricting, his clothes sticking to him with sweat. Sherlock's presence next to him made him uncomfortable, but it wasn't wholly unpleasant.

"Oh, do stop being so tense. We've slept in the same bed before," Sherlock said dryly.

John let out a deep breath that he had been unaware of holding. "It's not that. Well, okay, it's sort of that, but... Just, nightmares," he said pathetically, rolling onto his side so his back was facing Sherlock. "Haven't had them in awhile."

"I know," Sherlock said simply. "Go back to sleep. I'll wake you if you start having unpleasant dreams again."

John sighed and drew the blankets closer for comfort, despite being stiflingly hot. He fell asleep to Sherlock's quiet breathing in the otherwise silent room.

He didn't have nightmares again.

* * *

**Sherlock does care. :)**


	3. Injury

3.

"Ow..."

"Stop- oh."

"Yes, it hurts, doesn't it?" John muttered, helping Sherlock limp back to his bedroom. "Don't tell me to stop complaining."

Sherlock groaned as he sank onto the bed, pushing his coat off. "Well, that was tedious."

"It was your bloody idea to jump off the roof."

Sherlock sighed. "In my defence, I thought the skip would have suited for a better landing." He rubbed his shoulder.

"It wasn't," John said, momentarily sitting down to catch his breath. His entire body ached.

"I did notice when we jumped into it," Sherlock muttered, flopping backwards with a groan. "We need ice... and things," he muttered. "And plasters for the... the scrapes and things."

"Articulate, aren't we?" John muttered, taking a page from Sherlock's book and laying back. "Oh, I'm never listening to you again. You and your stupid ideas." He draped his arm across his eyes. "I think I'm going to have a massive bruise right on my left-"

"Rivalling the bruise against my leg, but you don't hear me complaining," Sherlock interrupted.

John sighed heavily. "I hate you."

"No, you don't," Sherlock replied calmly, the hint of cockiness in his tone.

"Oh, one day, Sherlock," John muttered, rolling onto his side. "One day."

Sherlock laughed quietly. John paid him no attention, focussing on the throbbing ache that was his shoulder twinging from memories and actual real wounds.

The next thing John knew, sunlight was streaming in through Sherlock's window from an odd angle - assuredly not the way it had been when John had laid down here - and he was awoken by something digging into his side.

He rolled over - with a wince - to find out what it was, only to figure out belatedly that it was Sherlock's _foot_.

"Sherlock," he complained, pushing it away.

Sherlock yawned widely and stretched out, hitting John in the rib.

"Ow!"

Sherlock sat up with a start. "What? What's wrong?"

"You kicked me in the ribs!" John gasped, eyes watering slightly from pain. "I've got bruises!"

Sherlock frowned, glancing about the room and then to his alarm clock. "... What are you doing in my bed? It's eight in the morning."

"Well, I guess I- wait, what?" He looked at the alarm. "... Shit. I fell asleep."

Sherlock blinked tiredly. "... Well, that's obvious," he muttered. "Why didn't I realise that?" he murmured before gingerly laying back down. "Stupid... I _ache_, John."

John painfully sat up. "Yeah, well, so do I. Ugh, your bed is... stupidly soft," he muttered, crawling out of bed and stretching. His back cracked in several different places and John stifled his moan.

"I'll get some paracetamol..." John mumbled, shuffling off to the bathroom.

* * *

**Poor boys. They can't just catch a break. At least they catch some z's. Together. ;p**

**I do not own _Sherlock_. Thank you!**


	4. Fever Dreams

John watched Sherlock toss and turn fitfully, feeling his nerves stretch further as he watched his friend captured in the throes of fever-induced dreams.

He'd gotten himself an infection, the clot-head. Didn't properly clean out a wound or something like that. And John had finally coaxed him (dragged him) into hospital when his fever had peaked at forty. John was done when his fever hit forty. Doctors weren't supposed to treat their friends and John wasn't going to try (and potentially fail) on his best one. On any of them, really.

"Sherlock," he murmured, reaching over to shake Sherlock's shoulder slightly.

Thankfully, the hospital had pinpointed the cause that John had, too, and they were able to administer proper care, aka antibiotics. Sherlock's fever was down to thirty-eight point six, which was still impressive in itself, but a lot more manageable, especially in hospital.

"Wake up. You're dreaming," he murmured, tightening his grip around Sherlock's shoulder.

Sherlock slept lightly, at least for now, and awoke with a start. His fever-glazed eyes settled on John's form. "What's wrong...?"

"You were dreaming... fitfully," John added. "Sorry. You looked uncomfortable."

Sherlock sighed heavily, draping his arm across his eyes, and didn't respond.

Further proof to his unwell physical _and_ mental state.

John bit the inside of his cheek and glanced at the door. It was late, past visiting hours but Mycroft's influence got him to stay. It was a private room, double bed...

"Budge over," he said quietly, standing up.

Sherlock didn't move. "What...?"

"Scoot. Nightmares..." John cleared his throat. "Well, I know fever dreams are different, but... physical contact," he said pathetically.

Sherlock moved his arm slightly, staring up at John with the same glazed look in his eyes. He seemed uncomprehending.

John palmed his forehead. It was cooler than before; so, it probably wasn't the fever, but more Sherlock being tired from the whole ordeal. John gently prodded his arm.

"Move over."

Sherlock frowned slightly before slowly shuffling over to the left side of the bed.

"You know I'm only doing this because you did it for me once," John mumbled, crawling into bed. "And you need to get some restful sleep."

Sherlock just sighed and let his eyes flutter closed again.

John would take his temperature soon, after he woke up again. It took a total of about two minutes for him to fall asleep, but John didn't move immediately. He knew how this worked. He'd had nightmares enough to know how it worked.

So, he was letting Sherlock know his presence was there by not moving and he was just starting to doze off when Sherlock turned and cuddled up right next to him.

John knew he liked to cuddle. Of course he knew that. But... he had a fever this time. It wasn't conducive to lowering his body temperature.

"Sherlock," he muttered. He didn't really want to shove him off; it would wake him up. Maybe just a few minutes.

Sherlock's head fell off the pillow and landed on John's shoulder, his dark curls tickling John's exposed neck. He very nearly jumped out of his skin, immediate goosebumps springing up all over his body.

"Sherlock," he hissed.

He got no reply except a breathy snore and a little bit of a snuggle as Sherlock curled more into his warmth.

... People were going to talk.

* * *

**This time Sherlock needs a little cuddle. :) [Albeit if he doesn't realise he does.]**

**Don't own ****_Sherlock_****. Your thoughts would be lovely; thank you!**


	5. Sofa

John propped his feet up on the coffee table, yawning widely. "That was great. We should do this more often."

"What?" Sherlock asked at his side, legs drawn up pretzel-style onto the sofa. "The watching a crap film bit or the ordering three pizzas or-"

"All of it," John said firmly.

Sherlock hummed. "Although maybe not such a stupid movie next time."

John nodded, stifling another yawn. "Yeah, this was kind of a bad decision. You're not listening to it, anyway."

"No," Sherlock said. "Waste of time. Was thinking of an experiment."

"Of course you were." John sighed, reaching for the two-litre on the table.

Sherlock's eyes tracked his movements, taking in every detail as usual. "You know, this is incredibly lazy of us."

John glanced up. "So? Night-in. Meant for laziness."

"No, we look like a couple of obnoxious teenagers," Sherlock replied smartly.

"Well, I'm not sure about you," John murmured, smiling to himself.

Sherlock rolled his eyes with his half smirk before grabbing his mug to let John top it off.

* * *

"Hoohoo... Oh."

When Mrs Hudson let herself into 221B later that night, she found both of her boys still sprawled on the sofa. Except they were both asleep now, still sitting up, but Sherlock's head had fallen over to rest on John's shoulder and John's head was resting against

With a knowing smile, she simply took the blanket off the back of John's chair and spread it over them.

* * *

John yawned, stretching slightly. His back was protesting the position and his legs had fallen asleep. "Oh... ow. Ow. Sherlock?"

He stretched again, noticing only then that his legs had fallen asleep because _Sherlock_ was sprawled across his lap. Or, more technically, his head was in his lap.

John sighed. "Sherlock."

Sherlock didn't respond.

"Sherlock, you..." John trailed off. He didn't have a word for him.

He also, given Sherlock's all-encompassing, lanky body, didn't have any place to put his hands. Instead of bothering with things like boundaries (he was still half asleep and past caring), he just put his hand on Sherlock's shoulder.

"Wake up. It's morning, you clot. And you fell asleep on my lap." He shook his shoulder slightly. "Sherlock?"

"Mmmmm...?"

"Wake up," John repeated. "We fell asleep on the sofa..."

Sherlock hummed and curled up tighter, sniffling as John's jumper must have tickled his nose.

"Sherlock."

"It's barely past six... back to sleep."

John sighed. "Go sleep in your bed. I need to get up. My legs are asleep, you lanky brute."

Sherlock sighed dramatically and rolled over onto his back, looking up at John. His hair was in a wild disarray and his usually bright eyes were still cloudy with sleep. "... Good morning," he mumbled.

John couldn't help but smile faintly. "Yes, good morning. Now up." He pushed at Sherlock's shoulder. "I'll make some tea."

Sherlock yawned widely and let John help him to sit up. "Sounds good... Maybe some toast...?"

John nodded, getting to his feet unsteadily. Pins and needles shot up his legs. "Strawberry or blueberry?"

"Jam...? Umm... oh, Marmite this morning," Sherlock murmured, stretching and rubbing his eyes.

"Alright," John said simply, heading to the kitchen to put the kettle on.

* * *

**They are so cute. I want to see this happen in the show. It's not Johnlock. Not really. It isn't. It's canon. Canon enough... :) Anyway, that's enough of the cuddles for now. I'm surprised that so many people enjoy this so much, but I'm glad that you do. It makes me want to write about it more. :)**

**So, thank you for your reviews! I do not own ****_Sherlock_****.**


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